Snowy Kisses
by sydneysages
Summary: Claire's always wanted to see real snow. All Sam ever wanted to see was snow. Can either of them achieve their dream? Clyrnin/Samelie


It's Christmas, so have some fluff

* * *

"Can't we like adapt climate change so that it becomes _freezing_ in Texas over the winter, so that we actually get some snow?" Claire knew she was being stupid with her question as she stomped down into the laboratory, but more than a small part of her was being serious. She was twenty three years old, and she had never seen snow—the fake stuff at the shopping mall her parents used to take her to _definitely_ didn't count.

A chuckle escaped the man standing on the far side of the room, though he didn't set down the tools in his hand.

"My dear, if that were only possible…oh the possibilities of what experiments we could do if the weather became cold enough for snow to fall! We could test the freezing temperature of nitrogen, or even consider finding a way to get a temperature lower than zero degrees Kelvin!" Myrnin was excited—far too excited—at the thought of something that, realistically, wasn't going to happen. "Now, did you gather the things you left to find?"

Claire nodded, lifting the three bags in her right hand in affirmation that she had indeed found everything in Morganville's limited shopping district for Christmas presents. She had lost track of time this year, and by the time she had gone to order from amazon, she had missed the deadline for delivery by Christmas. It was the first time in the history of forever that she had forgotten something as simple as Christmas shopping—though perhaps the man with the curly brown hair and a former tendency to murder people who contradicted his opinion was something to do with it.

In all honesty, she wasn't sure how it had happened, that the two of them had become…a couple. It had something to do with him coming to visit her in New York—without Amelie's permission—and their role in solving a mass murder that had occurred midway through his visit. There had been a little bit of tension caused (originally, she had blamed him for causing the deaths) but by the end of the investigation, Claire realised she had missed working with him far more than she had admitted to herself. So she packed up her laboratory in New York and returned to the place she had sworn she would never return to.

After that, it had just sort of…happened. He had kissed her (or maybe she had kissed him, there had been tequila involved so she remained a little hazy on the details) and somehow, she'd ended up in his bed. Without any clothes on. They swore it would be just the once—she remained worried for his sanity, despite definite improvements—but it happened again and again, until they accepted that they might as well just acknowledge that it wasn't just going to be an occasional thing. So they'd talked, had another 'accident', and started tentative dating.

They were four months into their official relationship and things were going as well as any relationship with the two of them could. There had been one major argument, caused by differing opinions on the best way to proceed with an experiment regarding dead vampires, but other than that, it was pretty quiet on their front. Myrnin still occasionally went a bit doolalley, but they were working on medicine that would work on vampiric brains, and Claire was confident enough in her ability to stake him that she wasn't worried.

"Don't come any closer!" Claire warned, as Myrnin set down the drill and looked as though he was going to walk in her direction. "You're not allowed to guess at what I've gotten you. It's a secret."

A mischievous look spread over Myrnin's face as he picked up his drill once again, a look that suggested he was thinking rather impure thoughts. Yet surprisingly, he didn't start sharing them.

"Very well, I suppose I must allow you to keep such a twenty first century human view on Christmas, the commercialised event," he commented, sniffing slightly. "Back in the day, one went to church and had a large meal, and that was the only commemoration of the birth of the saviour."

At that, Claire snorted. "The saviour? Myrnin, you're an atheist! Don't start to try and tell me that you deeply believe in the religious and spiritual meaning of Christmas day."

With this, Claire walked through the laboratory and towards the little corridor at the back, which led to the underground lair's more necessary rooms—a _very_ small living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom.

Myrnin followed, waiting outside the bedroom as Claire dumped her shopping bags at the bottom of the wardrobe, and then commenced to walk into the living room after her.

"So you want to see snow?" he asked, sitting down in the reading chair he insisted on moving from the corner of the laboratory into the living room. It barely fit in the room, but he had become quite insistent, to the extent that Claire frankly couldn't be bothered to argue. His reasoning for moving it? Claire had a sofa in the living room, so he should have the chair he felt most comfortable in.

"It's been my dream since I was a little girl," Claire said, blushing a little; she knew how corny it sounded. "Hey!"

Chagrined at the sudden burst of laughter from Myrnin, Claire threw one of the cushions on the sofa at his head. It gave her a small burst of delight that he didn't move away from the object, and allowed it to reach its target: his face.

"I won't apologise for laughing, Claire, for I am sure you understand how very melodramatic you sounded," Myrnin commented. "But do continue with your explanation of how your younger self desired to see snow so greatly."

Still blushing, Claire continued her story. "I really don't know, to be honest. I just always dreamed of making a snowman and having snowball fights, or even just looking at it fall. It looks so serene, like even the ugliest of places look beautiful with snow. I just really want to see it."

Slowly, at a human speed, Myrnin stood up and walked across the small space between the two of them. He then kneeled, took Claire's hand in his, and pressed his lips to it.

"I can't promise snow, my dear, but I can promise that I will do my best."

* * *

Three days later, on the twenty third of December, came a knock on the door in the far corner of the laboratory—the portal door.

It had been weeks since Claire had seen anyone come through the portal; she wasn't fully convinced that they were working as well as they ought to, and so had refrained from using them as transport. Only when there was monsoon-like rain did she acquiesce to using the simplistic transport.

"Um, come in?" Claire called, feeling slightly stupid as she stood by the door. If possible, they were really going to have to update the door; it had begun to crack, with the handle looking more than a little worse for wear.

Then again, it had survived about ten Morganville takeover attempts, so she had to give it kudos for surviving everything it had.

The door opened slowly, and through it emerged Amelie, the warrior queen of Morganville. Not that she looked particularly warrior-like in her cream suit, but it was a nickname that Claire felt suited the woman well. She was _not_ someone you wanted to cross in a fight, be it a war of words or of fists.

"Hello, Claire." Amelie's tone was, as per usual, relatively cool and distant. "Where is Myrnin? I came here to speak to the pair of you."

Unable to stop herself, Claire ended up raising an eyebrow in shock: since when did Amelie go to meet people? Usually, it was a summons to her office to find out that you were going to be doing her a favour—she _never_ came to you.

"Um, he's right through there. MYRNIN!" Claire said, shouting Myrnin's name. "Do you want a drink or anything? Maybe some gin? I hear it's been a bit rough, what with Theo's son gambling away half of the town's funds."

Amelie didn't comment, merely stalked past Claire to take a seat upon the sofa in the corner of the room that had to date from at _least_ the sixteen hundreds. Only when the Founder was seated did Claire realise that she was carrying something.

Suddenly, Myrnin burst into view, his face and hands completely covered in oil.

"My dear Amelie!" he exclaimed, making for his oldest friend. However, one look from her made him stop in his tracks. "To what do we owe the pleasure? Do tell me that you have some good news, and that it does not involve having to redesign the sewerage system. Bazalgette's design was so flawed, I had to start from scratch, and I binned most of the designs when we finished. It really was not an enjoyable task."

Rather impatiently waiting for Myrnin to (finally) finish talking, Amelie merely rolled her eyes. "No, I do not desire you to redesign the sewerage system. Unless you are confessing to taking liberties with the sanitation of my town, in which case I desire you to fit said system, also.

"I am here for I heard from numerous sources about the desire of dear Claire to visit Europe."

Confused, Claire shook her head. "Um, not that I'd complain about going to Europe, but I've not said to anyone that I want to travel to the continent. It'd be cool, though."

Once again, Amelie rolled her eyes.

"Are you feeling quite well, my dear?" Myrnin commented, a twinkle in his eye as he gave Claire a quick grin. "You seem to be rolling your eyes a great deal today. If you would rather not get Theo involved, if you recall I did train as a doctor for Elizabeth Tudor. I can give you a cursory examination."

"That is not required, Myrnin," Amelie said, her tone curt. "Miss Danvers, I was merely trying to comment on the fact that you desire to see 'real' snow—something you have told your beau, as well as your friends in my former home. Great swathes of Northern Europe have snow at this time of year, and to thank the pair of you for your assistance with certain…problems Morganville has faced this year. If you would rather not visit, I am sure that Oliver would appreciate the opportunity to return to his homeland."

"No, no, no!" Claire and Myrnin chimed in unison, indignant.

"We'll take them, definitely!" Claire commented, exchanging a glance with Myrnin as a grin crept onto her face. "When do we leave? This is so exciting—snow and Europe, and _snow_, and _Europe_, and…"

"Yes, snow and Europe, I believe that was rather obvious," Amelie interrupted, a wistful expression upon her face. "You are not the first human to desire to see a pure snowfall, you know. One other expressed the same wish to me—alas, his was unfulfilled."

There was a beat of silence as it clicked with Claire who the other person who wanted to see snow, but didn't, was. It was obvious, really: Sam Glass.

Before either Claire or Myrnin could comment, Amelie rose, leaving the white envelope upon the sofa. "Enclosed are your tickets, confirmations and the like, and passports—I took the liberty of updating your information, Claire. _Do_ be careful to obscure yourself, Myrnin; I haven't the time nor desire to free you from Europe once again. It was quite enough to stage a breakout from Mademoiselle Antoinette's personal prison, after all."

Just as the portal door closed, Claire called, "thank you, Amelie, we truly appreciate it."

And they did, truly.

And Amelie knew it.

* * *

As she sat down in her office to attempt to construct a solution to the problem Theo's family had caused for her, Amelie couldn't help but find herself lost down memory lane.

_"Did you know that snow is the least common weather type in Texas?" Sam had commented as they watched some form of film. It had been the first motion picture Amelie had consented to watch, and the unrealistic snow had stopped her from enjoying the film properly. "It's something to do with the heat, I think."_

_She had giggled—_giggled, _truly—and realised in that moment (as she had done an hour before, and an hour later) that she completely had fallen for this human. She had fallen for someone pure, someone who could make her laugh without meaning to—someone who she could love without feeling guilty._

_"I'll take you," she had said abruptly, interrupting Sam's commentary on the nature of the relationship in the film. "I'll take you to England when it's snowing, or France maybe, and we can dance in the snow. I'll show you ice-skating, and the ballet on ice is simply divine. Truly, Samuel, Europe covered in snow is more beautiful than almost anywhere else."_

Except here with you,_ she had wanted to say—but didn't dare._

Now, sixty years later, Amelie regretted not telling him. She still wasn't sure if he knew _how_ much she had loved him—loved him still—when he died, and she now regretted every time she hadn't told him how much of her heart he had filled.

They had decided to go in the winter of Steven's second year of life, but at the last minute, Steven had gotten a chest infection and had been rushed into hospital. And whilst she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed (and, selfishly, wanting him to ignore his son and run away with her, elope and make her feel a little more human again) she understood that family came first. Steven was his, completely his, whereas she was only a little bit his. Steven had to be his priority.

They had arranged to go the year after, buying Steven a new set of clothes appropriate for the colder weather, and they were all excited. Amelie was desperate to escape the politics of her town, to have a break without appearing weak, and Sam…all Sam had wanted was to run away with his family (because by now, Amelie was assuredly part of it).

But shortly before they were due to leave, Sam futilely gave up everything for nothing, gave up his humanity to save someone who didn't need (or deserve) saving.

And she had to distance herself from him. And that meant that they couldn't enjoy the fantasy of dancing under the snow, of building a snowman, of learning how to skate upon the ice.

(And at the time, she had been a little bit relieved, because she was convinced that she would never live up to his expectations…and she was still convinced that that would have been the case.)

Absentmindedly, Amelie turned on the computer monitor to her left and pressed a series of keys to bring up two images, side by side.

One of Sam Glass, the photograph she treasured the most, and one of the most beautiful area in France, covered in snow.

_One day, we will meet again, my Samuel, and we will dance in the snow until our lips are blue and you're shaking from the cold_.

But even Amelie knew that it was nothing but a fantasy that would never come true.

* * *

Across the globe, Claire and Myrnin had just checked into their hotel—after merely one mishap with Myrnin's lack of a heartbeat—and were heading down into the streets of Paris to appreciate the atmosphere.

It was Christmas Eve, and the streets were bustling, filled with couples and families almost dancing down the street.

"It's so…not America," Claire commented, as Myrnin took her arm. "There's just no snow."

"Have patience, little bird," Myrnin murmured, leading her down a street above which the Eiffel Tower loomed. "Let us wander the streets of Paris—I do wonder if my old acquaintance's possessions remain buried under his former home, and if I could possibly reclaim my pewter scales—and we can peruse the city at our leisure."

And so they walked and walked, the frosty air making Claire's cheeks pink, and around them, the crowds began to thin until they were alone upon the winding streets. The sky grew darker and darker as they came closer to the Eiffel Tower, until only the occasional street lamp lit their way until—

"Myrnin," Claire said, her tone excited. "Myrnin, unless I'm imagining it, I think it's snowing!"

He laughed and, faster than usual, moved to twirl her around and around as they almost danced towards a street lamp.

"It is indeed snowing, my dear—as I knew it would." But not even Myrnin's self-assured tone could distract Claire from the fact that she was standing in the middle of Paris and there was real snow falling.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed, and the snow began to fall faster and faster, almost dancing in the sky as it fell. It meandered left, then right, individual flakes keeping their distance from their fellow snowflakes—and Claire was mesmerised.

"Claire," Myrnin murmured her name, taking both of her hands, "it's Christmas Day, we're standing under the Eiffel Tower—almost—and it's snowing. Does this meet your childhood dreams requirements?"

She laughed, and it was a sound of love, if such a thing were possible. "It's a thousand times better than I dreamed," she admitted.

And then she kissed him, a kiss of tenderness and love amidst the snow.

And it was a kiss she knew she would always remember.


End file.
